Boys I've Loved Before
by Ivy Kendall
Summary: A rainy day and time alone sets the stage for Sharon to wander down memory lane.


Sharon pulled the warm blanket further up her shoulders, and snuggled down deeper into her chair, as she watched the spring rain. Her balcony was safely in the corner, away from the small gusts of wind that blew the rain against the windows. Her plants were enjoying the drenching, but Sharon was curled in a ball to witness the full effect without feeling the dampness. Days like this always made her melancholy, as if the sky was reflecting her soul. She was as alone in her thoughts as she was in her home, and she wanted to melt into the feelings without worrying that Rusty would interrupt her. Feeling slightly irresponsible, she had turned off her phone's ringer. No one in her life was solely dependent on her, something she'd made sure of. So for a little while, she could sit in her thoughts, enjoying the rain splashing against the concrete, and let her mind wander wherever it needed to go.

Few city sounds drifted up towards her balcony, and even fewer sounds of nature were up this high. She thought she heard a bird in the distance, calling for more rain. But to listen meant concentrating, and that was the one thing Sharon had no intention of doing. So the sound of the bird left her consciousness as quietly as it arrived. The occasional car horn came through the splashing, and she could almost hear the foghorns along the coastline. But aside from that, there was only the rain.

Sharon was enjoying the curtain surrounding her, drifting slightly as the rain sounds lulled her, when another sounds made it's way into her consciousness. This was not a horn or a bird, this was the sound of male singing. Sharon couldn't hear the words, but she knew the tune and began to hum along. She smiled at herself slightly, remember how she had written an aggressive paper against the content of a ballad that was little more than a recounting of the singer's various sexual conquests. "To All the Girls I've Loved Before", she had once written, "how can anyone love when he seemed more focused on their bedroom antics than their names?" She had been blistering in her contempt for the lyrics, presented as a serenade to the ignorant masses. Did anyone ever listen to the words anymore? Thirty years ago, she didn't think so. Now the memories of that song made her smile.

Humming to herself, she let her mind continue wandering where it may. Thirty years ago she had been taking a Women's Studies course at Brown, having convinced her superiors that she should take a sabbatical for further study. Her post-graduate status would look good on them, she argued. It wasn't lost on her what her superiors thought of her status nor her looks, but she kept her head high, possibly flirted a little inappropriately, and they granted her much desired leave of absence. Few knew of her academic credentials, and she wanted it kept that way. But from time to time, the lure of the academy was too strong and she needed to get back among ivy and dusty books, libraries that were open at all hours and students asleep in their carrels. She loved that life.

She was made for that life. Arguing points of law and philosophy at all hours of the day and night. Feminist Theory was at it's height, and police departments all over the nation were scrambling to figure out this new world of equal opportunity and inclusive language. Sharon wanted to be in the forefront of that movement, but first she wanted to bask in the presence of the minds that were making it happen. Sit at the feet of progressives...

Progressives like Marcel Gaudot...

She always knew when Marcel was in the room. His presence filled every empty space. He was an intimidating man and he had zeroed in on her from the first moment he took the stand in the small lecture hall. Sharon had known men for years. Powerful men who demanded your attention by their mere existence. Her father and grandfather had set her standards for excellence far higher than most young men could reach, but for her they kept reaching. Virginity was an archaic concept when she came of age, long after the pill had pacified pregnancy concerns and long before AIDS had introduced the world to new sexual fears. She had easily dispensed with hers after a football game in high school. They had won the cup, after all, and she wanted to give the hero's welcome. It has been sloppy and quick, but enjoyable enough that they kept practicing until they got it right. When the quarterback faded from her life, the baseball pitcher was all too happy to show Sharon what he was made of, and following him there was the debating team. Until that point she had assumed she would eventually sleep with the right guy and marry him, removing the need for financial independence altogether. She wasn't prepared for the Debate Team Captain to be as good with his mind as he was with other parts of his anatomy. Foreplay took on a whole new meaning as they pushed the bound of the Socratic Method and the Karma Sutra in equal measure.

She had a special place in her heart for that Debate Captain, and returned one summer to let him know he was the reason she started believing herself to be an intelligent, articulate woman rather than simply a pretty face and perky boobs. But as he'd said more than once, the Sword of Damocles hung over perfection such as theirs, and it wasn't quite the same. College had brought her new lovers with new challenges.

Gavin had come along one night when she was studying. They had laughed for ages, as they drank and smoked behind her dorm. He shared his room, but hers was a single so they tripped and giggled all the way inside, trying not to awaken anyone. Once in her room buttons popped, shirts tore, and the were rolling on the floor in no time. This was carnal. They were young and their bodies could orgasm in record time. It didn't take long before they were finished and laughing some more.

"That's the first time I had a gay man," she had said.

"Oh Darling, I've had plenty, and they're Fab-u-lous!"

They giggled some more, and Sharon reached over to pull a package of cigarettes from her desk, only to find it empty.

"Really?" Gavin complained. "Where's a good fag when you need one."

Sharon snorted and grasped for air, as they doubled over in hysterics. Gavin wasn't far behind and he laughed while pulling her hair back to see if she was still breathing.

"Oh, God..." she gasped for air, "you're terrible."

"Use the language, Baby. You never know when a double entendre will get you right where you want."

"And you want to be here with a woman? My understanding of homosexuals is you don't need my type."

"Oh, come here, Baby," Gavin pulled her towards him and kissed her head, "is little Sharon feeling insecure."

Again the snort, as her head came to rest on his shoulder. "You're an asshole, you know that."

"Most men are, that's why I love them."

They had laughed most of the evening, then curled up together and slept the sleep of children. The next morning Gavin had hugged her and kissed her again. "Listen Baby, you do your side of the fence, I'll do mine, but if ever you need a quick pick-me-up, you come to Master Gavin."

She had looked at him through hungover eyes and wild hair, "Are you serious?"

"Why not," he had shrugged. "When it works, it works. It's always good to see how the other half lives. I'll just be the gay guy in the back of the room that has a secret fetish for your beautiful self. Come on... we'll be legend.

Sharon smiled at the memory. They had shared classes, heartbreaks, alcohol, and more than a few forbidden substances in their three years at Cornell. The term "fuck friends" didn't seem to cover what they had, but they were certainly friends. When he moved to the West Coast, they had written for the little things, called for the big things, and went to each other in the crises. It was Gavin who cut the cord when her son was born. Gavin held her daughter up to the window to see her new brother. When his partner destroyed his collection of Egyptian stoneware as his parting shot, Sharon was the one he had called to pull him out of his incredulity and despair.

Only once had they fought, and that was over Kenny in her last year. Gavin had been flirting with him all night, but it was Sharon who took him home. Disappointment and hurt clouded them for weeks, until she couldn't take it any longer and she forced her way into his apartment. After tears and yelling, they curled up together and drifted to sleep like the best friends they were, Sharon assuring Gavin that he would have been disappointed. Kenny was all ego and nothing to show for it. She had to fake her orgasm to get it over with. Gavin cuddled her tight and thanked her for thinking of him. They giggled and slept, and everything was alright by dawn's first light.

The sound of the music was on a loop in her mind as Sharon pulled the blanket firmly up her neck and shifted her position. All the boys... there had been more boys. Frat boys who tried to pledge her as much as she had pledged her sorority. Politics majors who tried to argue their way into her bed. Pre-med who wanted to test a theory. It was a time when reputations were destroyed by why you didn't do rather than what you did.

Moving back to LA, Sharon made a point of keeping things professional. The rowdy student had to be replaced by the responsible police officer. While her parents were glad to see the end of one, they weren't happy to see the start of the other. Perhaps her psych profile had been correct and she was just a risk taker, changing her choice of risky behaviour. But she had the marks, and the drive and the physical strength to do what they wanted, and she was coming in to break down walls and establish justice. All accompanied by the face of an angel and a laugh that was infectious. No one had ever said no to Sharon, and the LAPD was no exception.

She worked hard at her chosen profession, always popular with the under achievers and a threat to the rest. But there was no one who made her feel special enough to distract her from her task.

Returning to the hallowed halls of learning brought her playful side again, and it brought Marcel. Marcel, with his gravelly voice, his large hands, his love for French poetry which he recited every time they made love. He had used her body to drink champagne, traced lines across her torso with melted chocolate, nibbled fruit out of her valleys and crevices. Making love to him was the most sensuous experience of her life. And when they weren't in the throws of physical passion, they were embraced in intellectual ecstasy, challenging each others assumption and presumptions. This was the one thing the police department could not give her, and she relished every moment, knowing inside her soul that it couldn't last.

He had been destroyed when the year ended and Sharon refused to stay. How could she explain to someone so passionate that she compartmentalized her world? He was part of something that made her soul sing, but he was fleeting. The rest of her very essence lay in serving others, not self-indulgence. She knew it was going to end when it began. She thought he knew that too.

She broke his heart, as she had other before him. But this time it was different. She realized it the minute she told him she wasn't going to stay. She looked in his eyes and recognized for the first time, true and passionate love. In his smokey depths she could almost see the dykes as they crumbled to dust, allowing the unchecked rivers to flow unabated. Changing her mind would have been the easiest thing in the world, and yet it was impossible. So with the mocking lyrics of Dolly Parton's "I will always love you" floating through her mind, she turned and walked away.

Marcel changed her, and not just in her desires with lovers, but with her treatment of men. In the past their hurt had been superficial and they had found new lovers in no time, some even trying to rub it in her face as though it would make a difference. They were of less consequence to her when they moved on, than they had been while she bedded them. And Sharon knew _she_ had bedded _them_, not the other way around. She took what she wanted, gave what she chose, and moved on.

But she couldn't do that any longer, and these were her thoughts one day as she sat in court, having testified before the judge on a B&E. They had found the culprits practically red-handed, stealing the VCR and TV from a seniors home. It was open and shut. Sharon had been sent, then a junior officer, because no one in the department expected the trial to be anything more than a formality.

They had been wrong. For over four hours Sharon watched in awe as the defense counsel batted around the evidence as a cat toyed with a mouse. He carefully and unscrupulously unravelled each of the DDA's points until the entire case lay in shreds around their feet, and the jury returned with a quick verdict of not guilty. The jurors were led out and the relieved families of the accused left to celebrate. The DDA stormed past her, not making eye contact, and the defense lawyer chuckled as he put his files into his briefcase. She was alone in the court room.

"So you like what you see?" he asked her, bringing her quickly to her sense.

"I'm always impressed with the art of bullshit," she smiled at him. The smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"I've been practicing it for years now. I'm rather good."

"So it would appear."

"For what it's worth, yours was one of the hardest testimony I had today."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because you were articulate, direct, never wavered in eye contact with the jury, and you're drop dead gorgeous. Compared to that, I had nothing."

Sharon was used to compliments of this sort and ignored them completely. "You obviously had something or else you wouldn't have won."

"I'm not sure I've won yet," his eyes twinkled, and she rolled hers in response.

They had dinner that night, and the next, and the next. He met her outside the station one evening as she was leaving with some co-workers.

"Who's that?" she was asked.

"Jackson Raydor," she replied casually.

"The defense attorney?"

"Yes."

"Do our bosses know?"

"When there's something to tell, I'll tell them."

She didn't understand the concern right away. She didn't even understand what might be of concern as they progressed. But she knew the exact moment when she had breached her own code of ethics, as she heard her questioning of the evidence come from his lips during another, higher profile trial. She was dumbstruck as she left the courthouse and went directly to her senior officer. Was it malice, did she think? No. Was it a set-up? No, she didn't think that was the case. They had started seeing each other long before the crime had been committed. Was she going to break up with him? No, she cried finally, bringing the grandfatherly officer to the chair beside her.

"How far along are you?"

Sharon looked up with a start.

"I have daughters," he continued. "I've been wondering these past few weeks and hoping you would come to me rather than me calling you into my office."

"What am I going to do?" she asked, no longer in her normal, self-assured state.

"Well," he sighed, "You have just confessed to me that you shared confidential information and I have to deal with that confession. If this had been a recurring pattern, I would have to terminate you, you realize that?"

Sharon nodded sadly.

"But this is your first offense. In fact it's the first time you have ever broken the rules. I want you to learn from this experience and my response. You are a fine officer, Sharon, one of the finest. You deserve consequences for your actions, but it would be an injustice to deprive the city of LA. This city needs officers like you far more than they need officers like me. Justice isn't black or white, it's grey and it's complicated and the rules are there to keep the process moving properly, not strangle it. Always remember that."

Sharon nodded again, feeling like a five year old rather than someone who was more than thirty years passed that.

"I'm not going to report this to Internal Affairs. I doubt their punishment will reach deeper than your self-punishment has already. What I am going to do however, is sign off on medical leave for you until after the baby is born. You'll still receive your salary and benefits, but I want you to get your private life worked out. You need to bring this baby into a family, not an affair. If this Raydor fellow is who you want, then recognize the risks of taking your job home apply doubly with him, and make it work otherwise. You and this baby deserve that. If he's not good enough, then kick him to the curb and make a new life for yourself."

Sharon laughed through her tears. "That easy?"

"That easy."

Jackson had been a sensuous lover almost like Marcel. He had been a fun lover like Gavin and so many others. He had even been a intellectually stimulating. But as she stood in the doorway of his apartment, unsure how to proceed, she wasn't exactly sure what she saw in him as a person.

He had been overjoyed, of course. He cried. He didn't think at his stage in life he would ever become a father and he was thrilled that she was the one giving him this gift. He cried also when he realized how he almost made her loose her job, not realizing that the idea for the case came from her. He had thought his argument original. Her mood was just slightly improved by the news that he'd lost anyway. He needed to loose that case for them to move forward, she realized in that moment. He couldn't win on her indiscretion. She wouldn't have been able to handle it.

And so they married, bought a house, painted a nursery, and did all the things couples in love were supposed to do to prepare for the birth of their first child. He bought her elaborate gifts. When she questioned the money Jackson just shrugged. He was a saver, he assured her. He always had something for a rainy day and a beautiful woman. She smiled. Even if she wasn't completely in love, she did love him.

Her supervisor was gone by the time she returned to work. He had stage four Colon Cancer and no one knew. He wanted to go out the way he came in, with his boots on. Sharon thought back to the day in his office. He had been saying goodbye and giving her the benefit of his wisdom. She wouldn't let him down.

A year later she experienced her first sensation of relief that her husband wasn't around. He had been working a case, he said when he called to offer an excuse. She could hear the music in the background and the bottles clinking, and knew how much 'work' he was probably doing. She needed some space. Work was demanding, as was an infant, but when her husband suffocated her all the while calling himself a 'romantic', she knew she needed time alone. His case couldn't have come at a better time.

"What are you going to do?" Gavin asked, cradling the sleeping babe in his arms.

"Something has to give. I'm exhausted."

"A Nanny?"

"Oh god, no! I was raised by one and I want to raise my own child. At least when I'm at work the LAPD daycare has her so I can visit. I won't give that up."

"Okay, Jackson?"

"On what grounds? Oh hey, Jackson, guess what: we're getting separated because I find your constantly bringing me roses offensive, and your rubbing my feet when I'm in bed is destroying my sense of self, and oh... stop buying me dinners out. Get real. It's smothering, that's all."

"Sounds like a pretty good deal to me, and you've already told me he's good in bed, so what's the problem?"

Sharon snapped, "Hello, didn't you hear me say I'm smothered? I need some space."

"Shh..." he glowered at her, then shushed the baby again, making Sharon feel guilty for waking her daughter. "That leaves work, Honey."

"I know... I won't quit my job, though."

"Did I ask you to?"

They talked most of the night, and when Sharon arrived at work Monday morning, she made her way first to her boss' office, then Human Resources, and finally started packing for her new position in Internal Affairs. For the second time in her life, she was making adjustments that were better for everyone in her family, and placing herself in last place.

Sharon shifted uncomfortably as the memories assailed her. Those were not good years, although they should have been. Instead of feeling the derision that came with her new job, she saw herself as a pioneer for women in the LAPD. Climbing the ladder as fast as she could, and far outstripping her counterparts in other departments. One last drunken tumble with Jackson, which felt on the border between wifely duty and domestic assault, and she was done. She couldn't take his increasing drinking along with discovering that he not only didn't have savings, but he had taken out credit cards in her name, ruining her credit rating.

With the help of her parents, she moved herself and her growing family into a new home, cut all the times she could easily cut, and moved on.

All the boys... the only boys after that had baby curls and chubby cheeks, and that was enough. Birthday parties, pool parties, school recitals, homework, first tooth, first dates, heartache. She did it all by herself, with her faithful Gavin by her side.

And then there was him... No longer were boys only interesting as children around her feet. He had awakened a part of her that had long laid dormant. A part she thought had died from misuse.

This time it wasn't mired in fading passion or intellectual stimulation. For the first time, it was comfort and companionship first. They had somehow become like an old married couple without the pain of youth. He brought her tea. She listened to his ideas. He supported her orders. She directed his hostility. He turned to her when he was attacked. She turned to him when she needed help.

The sound of a door closing brought Sharon out of her revery. The sun was showing signs of existence behind the clouds, and the rain had all but stopped. She adjusted herself in her chair just as the patio door was pulled open.

"You been here long?"

"It's been awhile."

"You turned your phone off again."

"How did you guess?"

"Cuz I know you."

"Mmm... true enough. Rusty is in his room I assume."

"Yeah, he's bagged."

"Dare I ask what he ate for supper?"

"You can ask, but you won't like the answer."

"Mmm..."

"So what were you doing out here so long?"

"Thinking."

"Anything you want to share?"

"Oh... I heard an old song, and it got me thinking about people I've known."

"Songs will do that."

"Yes, they will."


End file.
